The story so far: I was raised as a conservative Christian in the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod (LCMS), which was both 1) full of community connection and 2) a near-constant experience of worry and guilt in large part because of the way my brain is wired. I love following rules and am highly motivated to please the authority figures who set them.

This was the perfect combination for me to be an obedient, studious kid. I absorbed everything that my church, my family, and my teachers told me and took those lessons extremely seriously. I worked as hard as I could to be a good Lutheran and a good student. 

Found: Frequent, low levels of happiness combined with sporadic moments of intense joy.

Even if no one specifically commented on my behavior, as long as I was doing what would make God and the adults around me proud, whether it was getting good grades or participating in Sunday School classes, I was happy. But if an adult did happen to praise me, even something as small as writing "Good job!" on a homework assignment, that was like hitting the jackpot! That praise would brighten my entire day and I would keep thinking about it for days afterwards, basking in the warmth of those feelings.

Those moments of joy were what kept me going despite all of the worry, guilt, and loneliness. I didn't have very many friends growing up, since it turns out that other kids don't like it when you can answer every question a teacher asks correctly, score high enough on every test that grading on a curve has no effect, and earn the maximum amount of extra credit points (which you didn't really need because you were already getting A's). Being obsessed with pleasing adults didn't exactly endear me to my peers, either.

But while the adoration of my peers was something I wished I had, I knew that, ultimately, it was unimportant compared to Being Good, By Pleasing My Authority Figures. Case in point: As soon as I heard about the International Baccalaureate Diploma at the age of 12, I immediately knew that I had to earn it. It was the ultimate pre-university academic credential, the most difficult course of study available in my school district.

While I consciously believed that earning an IB Diploma would teach me valuable skills, I also unconsciously believed that getting an IB Diploma would maximize my parents' and teachers' happiness and pride in me. The program had a very specific, challenging curriculum that took six years to complete (four years of preparatory courses followed by two years of actual IB courses). In fact, IB classes were so much more difficult than non-IB classes that every IB class counted for 20% more when computing grade point averages: earning an A in an IB class was worth 5 points instead of the usual 4.

One of the requirements to receive an IB Diploma was to pass a "Theory of Knowledge" (TOK) course. I took TOK during my third year of high school, when I was about 16, and it was taught by one of my all-time favorite teachers. TOK was a basic epistemology class combined with critical thinking practice: we discussed what it means to know something, how we gain knowledge, and what the limits of knowledge are. I still vividly remember (and highly recommend) two of the books we read together as a class: Sophie's World (1991) by Jostein Gaarder, and The Tao of Pooh (1982) by Benjamin Hoff.

One of our assignments for this class involved each of us choosing books to read from a list of titles, rather than everyone reading the same book. Next time, I'll revisit those books (for the first time since I took TOK over 25 years ago!) and share how this assignment changed my life overnight.